


Sarek and Amanda Week 2015

by downdeepsouth



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepsouth/pseuds/downdeepsouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her death, a look at how Sarek's life is changed by her absence. Five works commissioned for Sarek and Amanda Week 2015. All scenes from Tale of the Last Clans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After you, not a single day is the same.

_**After you, not a single day is the same...** _

Sarek adjusted the thermal fabric at his neck. The only part of his body uncovered was his face. But neither the layers of thermal clothing under his robes nor his own accelerated metabolism did enough to keep him warm. And while this gave him a boost of energy, much of that was absorbed by his controls, which he forced into a neutral state despite his environment. Andorian Ambassador Endilev's meeting chambers were freezing, but Vulcan-Andorian past relations had several examples of how a Vulcan's normal discomfort could be mistaken by an Andorian for pretention or disrespect. Sarek and Thy'Lek went back almost a century now, and were acquainted enough that Sarek did not suspect the Ambassador would ever mistake his cold on purpose, but all Andorians were passionate. Better safe than sorry, as Amanda would say.

“You must be uncomfortable, Ambassador,” the Andorian noticed, and then leaned off to the side and issued commands in Andorian to his desk receiver. Then Sarek noticed his seat heating, and consequently the muscles in his back and legs unlocking and relaxing. He nodded his head in the Andorian's direction. Endilev's stalks twitched in acknowledgment. He cleared his throat.

“Vulcan and Andor have been acquainted for a long time, Ambassador.” He began slowly, obviously nervous. “Sometimes I think these humans don't know your kind at all. At least in comparison to us.” He smiled wide, an obviously anxious gesture, and showed a mouth full of yellow teeth, picked immaculately clean. Sarek nodded for him to go on, eager---even with the accommodation---to leave this room as quickly as possible. “It is not a secret that Andor even watched Vulcan's space travel from afar long before diplomatic relations between the two powers began.” Sarek continued to nod, urging him forward into whatever was causing the emotional reaction.

“This included during the time of Surak, and the centuries afterward,” he continued, almost as if waiting to get to the part where Sarek would stop him. Sarek did not actually intend to, and was now a little curious about the direction this conversation was headed in, and since that curiosity distracted him from the cold, it was logical that he indulge it in moderation. “It is well recorded in Andorian history when the atomic blast on your world marked the death of Surak. The series of large migrations off-world that happened in the subsequent two centuries are also held in our memory.”

Like the prick of a pin, an emotion spread through Sarek's chest. This was the reason for the anxiety. It was of course logical that Surak's teachings would have taken hundreds of years to truly be embraced by the majority of the planet. And Ambassador Endilev was correct; in this respect Terrans really did not know Vulcans. Many assumed that a line can be drawn on the year of Surak's death separating Pre-Reform and Post-Reform, and that all Vulcans on this side of the line acted “modern”. But they both knew better. In reality, Vulcan had a few more Civil Wars, and other, perhaps more damaging, violent incidents. And in those 300 years after the death of Surak there had been three large migrations of native Vulcans off-world. Those who formed the Romulan Empire were first of course, being fully driven off after killing Surak, but then a few more followed. Indeed, one line of Selek's research was dedicated to what he called Reunification, and he was busy mapping potential colonies with biologically-similar populations. He nodded again, still outwardly composed, and the Andorion continued.

“A large group of... well former Vulcans... migrated away from the system and towards the Orion Syndicate. If you'll look here...” he trailed off while fumbling with a monitor and a star chart filled the wall to their left, “... according to Andorian history, a group of several thousand ships moved past Coridan, Beta Rigel, Deneva, and Lorillia, but then weren't spotted by the monitoring stations we had at the time at Sigma Ceti, near Nausicaa, or around Argellus. It is believed by some Andorian scholars that this group either died off---prey for Orion scouting ships---or that they settled here.” Sarek reached forward as he was speaking and tapped the display. He had once been an astrophysicist, and knew well that the band of space in those boundaries did not contain any planets even moderately suited to Vulcans.

“That is certainly a theory. My colleague Selek would be interested in speaking to your scholars at length...” Endilev raised a blue hand to stop him.

“There's more.” They sat in silence for a few moments as blue hands flew over an Andorian keyboard. The map highlighted known Federation trade routes. “As you know, this corridor is notorious for large space orcas and thus avoided by most travelers of any sort, except biologists.” Sarek marveled at how a conversation could go from the unpleasant to the fascinating so quickly. Of course he had heard about the _Caelus Orca_! “But perhaps you do not know that seven years ago an Andorian research institution funded a team to enter the area and observe the space whales in their native environment.”

“There is much we do not know about the biology that sustains organisms whose native environment is the vacuum of space.”

“Indeed!” At Sarek's interest the Andorian was warming up to the subject, evidenced by the fact that he was speaking faster. Sarek was warming as well, the interesting distraction keeping his mind off the cold. “Well, look at what they found,” Endilev continued, opening some signal transmission files.

“Are these... signals coming from the Orca?” Sarek asked, his mind rolling through increasingly unlikely possibilities. But the Andorian was already moving his head and antenna in the way that signaled disagreement.

“No. These are subspace signals. And a lot of them too! Enough to...” he trailed off, but neither one needed him to finish.

Sarek stood. “Thank you, Ambassador Endilev. Thy'Lek.” He bowed his head and used his chosen name, acknowledging their friendship. As he turned, his mind was already running through his next steps.

      1. _Inform Selek, 2. Inform T'Pau, 3. Engage Starfleet via Admiral Stoddard..._




Sarek walked, more in his mind than watching where he was going, letting his ears guide him to an empty room. In the past he would have returned to his quarters, which would be welcomingly warm despite the fact that Amanda must find the heat too much for her. Disrupting old patterns was one way his Healer suggested he work through his loss. Now alone in a room, he found a spot on the wall to focus on and retreated into himself, thinking through his next steps. Chains of actions and reactions flowed through his mind, alternatives, how long each course of action would take, how much of an impact if could potentially have...

“Ambassador!” One of his Aides was beside him, his words underlined with tension. As he came up and out of himself, he discovered the stimulus.

He was standing in the Transporter Room looking at an empty transporter pad.

 


	2. Everywhere I look I am reminded of you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene Two: The Enterprise's translator program is challenged by an Ancient Vulcan language and, in response, pulls on the tapes and voice of the Federation's leading expert on Ancient Vulcan languages and customs.

 In his guest quarters, Ambassador Sarek sat at the workstation. His head was tilted to the side as he listened intently to the audio from the Bridge. There, a woman called Nekae was speaking in an ancient Vulcan dialect and the computer pulled tapes created long ago by a scholar of Earth to translate her.

He was fortunate to have this access to Bridge communications. Based on past experience he knew that Starfleet Captains, in general, were not fond of Federation Ambassadors. He had been on the distaff end of an unpleasant encounter with more than one Starfleet Captain, several of whom were now Commodores and Admirals. Most were uncomfortable with the diplomatic functions and arrangements that had to be made for an Ambassador to board and stay on a Federation flagship. Ironically, many were more than happy to play Ambassador themselves, and did so as often as they ran into new species or non-aligned worlds and systems. This behavior, the unholy joining of military and diplomatic, was abhorrent to his ethics.

Many loathed the retinues of staff that Ambassadors brought with them: Aides, attaches, assistants, translators, specialists, lawyers, guards, and interns. He could understand that, the being reluctant to take on so many new people, even if for a short time. Starships were closed systems, relying on the replicators for protein and nutrients, and the gardens for most everything else. The water and air were recycled, which added their own issues, but while dehydration was rare on a space-faring vessel, starvation was not. And Starfleet had its own internal politics around refueling, which would never quite allow people to starve but could, and were, sometimes used to remind people what hunger felt like. This practice also disturbed him, especially with a son in Starfleet whose living in an environment tailored to Terran norms meant he burnt a lot of calories and consequently ate a great deal.

But the thing that bothered Captains about Ambassadors the most, much more than accommodations or manners or pomp, was the inequality in power.

Ambassadors outranked Captains on starships.

And this outranking was, at this point in Federation history, pretty well defined and comprehensive. After Captain Komack undermined an agreement Ambassador Endilev was trying to broker with the Coridans by issuing maintenance orders that blocked communications, Sarek pushed for an Ambassador's authority to extend over aspects of the ship itself---not just the diplomatic mission. Since the Federation Council approved all budget decisions for Starfleet, Sarek often found himself putting pressure on the Council to demand more accountability from Starfleet Command. Starfleet officers should never be brokering diplomatic agreements. And when an Ambassador came on board, obviously the designated representative of the Federation should have all needed authority.

He was well aware of this legal reality. His son was as well, and further knew the prominent role Sarek had played in creating and maintaining this pecking order. As a youth, he had allowed, even demanded that Spock shadow with him, intern with his staff, and prepare in other ways for the eventual assumption of these diplomatic duties. Now he used that to his advantage by allowing it to inform his negotiation strategy.

First he demanded to be on the Bridge. This would of course have meant himself, a Senior Aide, and at least two burly Vulcan bodyguards. His son was at his most controlled in Sarek's presence, but Kirk's discomfort at this prospect was obvious. From this unsavory request he let himself be talked down to a live visual and audio feed from the Bridge being piped down into his quarters. Now he was riveted to the chair, focused on the screen and speakers as unexpected events unfolded.

“ _And then they'll tell us what to teach our children, and then when to have children, and then what to watch on the Dish, et cetera et cetera...” Amanda explained, using the effusive hand gestures that he had once found so garish, but now thought quite quaint. He jumped at the chance to ask her about this phrase as many Terrans used it, but none explained it._

“ _Oh! It means “and other things” and usually indicates that a list of related items could be much longer._

“ _And is this not indicated by the hand's rotational gesture?” Sarek asked, mimicking her moves with his own hand in a way that looked comically out of place. She sighed._

“ _We_ _ **talked**_ _about this. Humans use both physical gestures and verbal cues. Anyway, you'll find the origins of et cetera interesting. They are an example of calque form. This is when one Earth language borrows a sentiment from another Earth language with a literal word-for-word translation. It is taken from the Greek spoken at that time. Greek kai ta etepa became Latin et cetera, which became Standard et cetera.”_

_Sarek watched her work through this explanation, pleased his holding out of interest resulted in a longer conversation between them. In truth, he was consistently impressed by how flexible Terran languages and dialects were. Just last week he had learned about “Nah mean!” after asking Amanda about a conversation between two Terran trade representatives. Terrans were remarkably flexible with their languages, bending them to suit each and every possible need._

It was _her_ voice. The voice of his wife, Amanda Grayson Sarek, who also happened to be the Federation's foremost expert on Ancient Vulcan languages. She was a linguist by trade and, bored during the extended bed rest she had been put on while carrying Spock, had used the time to learn Vulcan history and language in a way no other off-worlder academic ever had before.

Hearing her voice, in this unexpected context, tested his controls. He wanted nothing more than to storm the Bridge and take back his wife, whose voice made a part of him feel certain she was there. Intellectually, he knew she was dead. He was there. He _saw_ it. He even felt a change in the bond, almost a tear.

All of that evidence stacked up against the bond that extended throughout his brain and even to the brain stem and down through his nerves. The bond that was _still there_. He couldn't feel her, but he did not feel her absence either. She felt alive and connected to him, but not near or conscious or aware. His Healers all claimed it was a shadow, the sheath of a remarkably strong bond, and advised him to meditate on her passing---an extremely taxing task for him.

And now her voice made him want to break into the turbolift and emerge on the Bridge to take his absent, delinquent wife back. He knew he was going to have to meditate diligently on this difficult theme tonight.

He listened to the Captain parcel this new work out to his crew and knew they would all be collecting the information he was most interested in, freeing up time for him and his staff. He wrote a quick note to his Senior Assistant to get word to the others to take a short rest period while they could and then rose. Heading for the small sleeping quarters he had been allotted, he prepared his mind for a short cycle meditation.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a series celebrating Sarek and Amanda week 2015. For more entries, check out the #belovedweek hashtag on tumblr. While you're there, swing by http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/ for more fan!crack


	3. I am an adult. I can move forward. I will keep my promises.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek and Kirk work together to negotiate with the Ancient Vulcan refugee Nekae, but both are hindered by loss and change. While Kirk sorts through the after effects of his meld with Selek, Sarek struggles to keep a clear head as the ship's computer translates Nekae's words using Amanda's voice. Part three in a five part series to celebrate Sarek and Amanda Week 2015. All parts are exerpts from Tale of the Last Clans.

“Why are you still here?” Nekae was speaking as Spock exited the turbolift, where he stopped abruptly and stepped to the side so as not to stop the Doctor. Cognizant of where the viewscreen boundaries were, he waited until Kirk looked to the side, acknowledged him, and nodded before he moved across the bridge to the Science station.

“Are you,” she panned over to make eye contact with Kirk, “so stupid that you think even all of your ships would be a match for us? Or maybe,” her gaze shifted to Sarek, “you're desperate because you let our planet get destroyed and now have nowhere to live and not enough women? Or are you just crazy,” she snapped, eyes flicking back to the Captain, “thinking you'll help mediate a thousands of years held conflict by standing in the middle?” His father had been right to have two figures of authority present. It obviously benefited these negotiations, and made him reconsider how heavily he had lobbied the Captain before the Vulcan delegation came on board to consolidate his authority in preparation for their visitors. Kirk's attitude here---that this was a Vulcan issue, so it made sense that the Vulcan Ambassador have all the power he needed---was paying off now.

“Your people voted to speak to us, and gave you a mandate. You are curious about us, though you also seem to know a great deal,” Sarek began, and his words gave off the feeling that he was winding up for something long. She interrupted him before he could really begin, a tactic his mother would use when they were in contention. That, combined with the fact that it was still his mother's voice giving the translation made him start, and he took a few seconds to steady his controls.

“You were watching our tech then. _You_ must have learned a great deal. Besides, most of the beings on _this_ ship are human. Isn't it arrogant to think I came back just to talk to one of you, when there are so many of them?” Nekae was much different this time. The walls and desk were draped with green cloth, making it look like she was transmitting from somewhere else. She'd cleaned up and was dressed formally, in a coat with a high back at the neck and a green scarf wrapped around her neck under the collar, with a knot at her throat where the coat collar was open. Her eyes were focused. She switched languages seamlessly, speaking to Sarek in the Nomad dialect they had identified earlier.

If Sarek had been married to anyone else this might have been too much a linguistical challenge, but he was sure his mother had taught his father the ancient Vulcan languages and enough about linguistics to extrapolate. To Kirk she spoke English with an American Western ( _Texas and Oklahoma_ , his mind supplied) accent. She'd spoken fast, racing the translator and barraging the Ambassador with words, and he adopted the same tactic, his own responses coming out in a rush.

“I learned that you still raise litkas and sehlats. Our sehlats will go extinct in the next 70-100 years and our children will not grow up ever seeing a live litka again.” This time, Sarek's statement was short.. She responded in kind and the pace of the conversation quickened.

“Puppies and kitties and children already?” She looked incredulous. “Fine, then know this. The ones of us called Nomads guard our worlds, and we do so because we _want_ _to_. We are all the ancestors of those left behind. The children whose parents and teachers were killed by the Acolytes of Gol and the Gladiators of Shi'Kar. We are the adepts whose entire villages were leveled. We are the orphans of T'Khut's world, and we are not swayed by the pains of your children.” The entire crew straightened, shocked by her declaration.

“You really have no pity?” Kirk jumped in, and watching his Captain work toe-to-toe with his father was a sight bordering on heretical.

“That's not what your culture looks like from here. From here, “ Kirk said, motioning to the wall screen to his left side, where her social media page was still up, “...it looks like you care for, respect, and even idolize the innocence of puppies, kittens, and children.”

She turned to him, her face changing completely. With their human Captain her face was open, genuine, and her voice honest, “We do have pity, but we cannot for them. They conquered our world with  _philosophy_ , backed by telepathic assault and then war. They  _are not safe_ .” She emphasized her last words as if she were trying to protect him.

Spock understood completely what she might be thinking she was protecting their human companions from. His mother was an expert on pre-Reform Vulcan history and culture, and it was the one class she taught him herself. If to this Nomad, Vulcan civilization was put on pause the moment her ancestors were driven from their world, what she knew of them filled in the gaps in Terran knowledge. To the Nomads, Vulcans were still pre-Reform, uncontrolled except as a precursor to savagery---or worse, the Reformers, controlled on the outside but still making frenzied, emotional decisions. To the Federation---including Terra---Vulcans were far beyond the reforms, a calm, non-violent, unemotional race.

“Then you will not suffer us for long. We will not make it to a fifth generation without additional individuals and, even then, we will not have enough genetic diversity to sustain ourselves as a race.” Sarek, the only one on the Bridge other than Spock who was still composed, added quickly.

Kirk jumped back in the conversation, trying to keep her more sympathetic eye contact. “You would really let them go extinct? Without even knowing whether, over thousands of years, they had changed into the type of people you could embrace?” His speech had an almost stirring affect on the Bridge crew, which made her next statement so abrupt.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “They are dangerous. They drove over half the population of their world away and called it _peace_. If they are dying, let them die. They are not worth saving.” She spoke directly with Kirk, who looked across the Bridge at him.

He met Kirk's still shocking blue eyes and watched as the Captain took him in, as if using him as an perfect example of his entire species. It never stopped surprising Spock the difference between his reception on the Enterprise, where he was Vulcan, for some of them the only Vulcan they had ever even met---and he was meticulous in his duties as First Officer, and that included meeting every member of the crew---and his reception on Vulcan, where he was human, and surrounded by individuals convinced he would slip up and reveal himself at any moment. His father among them.

He was snapped back to awareness as Kirk's eyes clouded. His Captain was back within the memory of the meld with his older self, and he had now had a flashback on the Bridge. Spock prepared to intervene. Then, almost as quickly, the human Captain came back to himself. His eyes focused on the console between them, the same one Spock had bent him backwards over and choked him almost to death. Then he looked past it again, to his First Officer and the look he gave him was shockingly emotional, an affirmation of friendship that hit his sensitive telepathic receptors like a wave. Kirk turned back to the Nomad.

“You're wrong.” His voice had a strong emotional undertone. Conviction. The Bridge crew responded, sitting up straighter. She seemed surprised. She turned her attention back to the Ambassador.

“I'll communicate your _state_ to the Core and let them know you are motivated to... collaborate. And I will open and maintain friendly relations with the Captain and crew of this Federation vessel. This is all we are willing to offer at this time.”

“She's typing!” Lt. Uhura reported, displaying a shot of her computer screen transparently to the side of her face on the main viewing screens.

_Pseth Sular ra dangloit'lej var-tor!_

“Tell these Dry Ones what they should do,” Spock translated aloud, stepping up to the dias next to Kirk.

“Permission to take the screen, Sir,” Uhura requested. Kirk waived his hand and the screen got brighter. Now it was Nekae's subspace social network screen, where she had just posted her request. Responses were pouring in, all small video, audio, and text files linked to the conversation.

“Play some Lieutenant, at your discretion,” Kirk ordered. She clicked on a video and an old woman's face filled the screen. Her voice was translated, so her old face was paired with his mother's voice---a disturbing visual.

“I would heed her words, Son of Surak. We have lived thousands of years in anticipation of the day you step to us again, and you are hardly strong enough for a confrontation now. Do not let need drive you to making what is clearly an illogical choice.” Lt Uhura seemed to realize this was a problem, and switched to another video, this time a young girl. She could not have been more than ten cycles old, and the translator adopted a lighter, younger sounding version of his mother's voice.

“You better do what that Queen says! Or you'll regret the day you ever came to this part of space looking for extra women and children. 'Cause we fight too, Stone-Faced One. And we don't take prisoners!” The little girl was gesturing wildly with thin, long arms. Her head, neck, and limbs were stretched, suggesting she had been raised in space, on life support systems, or on a world with a lighter gravity than her planet of origin.

“We find these terms acceptable,” Sarek says abruptly, his voice tinged with a hoarseness that draw's Spock's concern. He looks in time to see his father's eyes cutting to the light on the Captain's chair that indicate the comms are still on. He looks strained, and more than anyone else around him Spock understands why.

* * *

Sarek watched the stars, moving only as the inertial dampeners, deflectors, and shields vacillated their magnetic charges.

_She is not my wife. My wife is dead._

He dug down deeply into his meditation, needing to retreat from the world after an afternoon with a cold side and her voice in his ear.

Normally, when they traveled on Starfleet vessels they chose to stay together. She would take the tour with him, sit in meetings, always at his side. Starships were known for computer failures, exotic and violent first contacts, space madness, and a whole host of other unique dangers. It was already enough of a strain on him that Spock was constantly in this environment, which could collapse in on itself from any number of unknown, incalculable factors. His wife noticed, and chose not to similarly strain him.

Today, he had heard her voice, but had not the benefit of her presence. Her counsel.

Normally, in diplomatic situations such as this, when his negotiating partners were emotional in this way, she would aid him with her counsel. As he was speaking she would come up and take his hand---a completely normal human gesture that his wife felt gratified to take license with in public---which would jumpstart their always humming bond. Then they would talk without speaking, and in the private world of their minds they were both  _The Ambassador_ , both with just as much influence and just as much of a role to play.

To hear her voice in this situation was so normal that he had to remind himself again that she was not there, not on their ship or standing next to him in his mind. The Nomad's words were not orders, issued by his wife.

“ _Isn't it arrogant to think I came back just to talk to one of you, when there are so many of them?”_

His wife's words made him think of her Earthly ghosts, the katras of the dead that humans just left in endless yards and sometimes, largely depending on their deaths, their homes and places of work. Since her death he had thought about that concept a great deal, wondering where her katra was, if it was anywhere. Humans were so careless with theirs, unable to fully preserve them, and he had entertained the thought that she might return and visit him, as her Terran ghost stories often recounted. But if she were here, now, it would be arrogant for him to assume she was here for  _him_ , and not their son. If she had limited time, as so many of these stories say is the case with human ghosts, then coming to see their son would be the logical choice. He needs her.

_I am an adult. I can move forward. I will keep my promises._

They had discussed her death, all discussions started by her, prompted by drastically unrelated stimuli. And in each conversation she solicited promises from him.

  1. _To live well_

  2. _To marry again_

  3. _To ensure their son was well cared for_




_Well cared for_ was her phrase, a curious turn of human vernacular, meant to convey a level of concern that both parties in the conversation understood. And when she said it to him, he understood her meeting explicitly.

She expected him to take care of Spock as she would. And, in her absence, he found keeping this promise was both logical and easier than being the constant counterpoint to his son's every decision.

At first Spock had been shocked by this---he remembered his son's unguarded expression after Sarek answered the question posed throughout the child's youth honestly, as Amanda would have done to calm him after his outburst on the Bridge---but Spock very quickly seemed to adapt. And all of the affection, loyalty, and devotion Spock had always showered on his mother turned now on him. Sarek had often meditated on his displeasure with being the parent obviously not favored by their son, but he had never allowed these emotions acknowledgment outside of his meditations. Now, well within his meditations, he acknowledged how pleased this new relationship with his son made him.

Earlier that day, discretely as possible, the guard he had shadowing Selek reported to him about his work with his son on the Bridge---including that Selek had assumed Spock would want to avoid the delegation and his father specifically. Sarek had repressed an emotional sense of approval when he heard the report that his son had disabused Selek of that notion.

_Spock. Selek's name is actually Spock. And in another place he would be my son._

 

Sarek reminded himself of this, a little concerned that, were Amanda here, she would insist her promise spread to both of her sons. And, if another universe did exist, and Selek was Spock from there, then his own Sarek wouldn't be able to help him. To reach him.

He had an obligation to see to his welfare. And that extending to  _kindness_ , which was not logical but which he knew both Spocks needed.

But Amanda was not here.

“ _They are not safe.”_

Even in English, the Texarkana accent reminded him of his wife, though he had not heard it outside of their private chambers in over a decade. It was as if Amanda had spoken so urgently to Kirk, on a subject she knew very well. Vulcans were not safe. And while somehow none of the Starfleet officers who served and lived alongside his son seemed to understand it, Amanda had been at his side, in his mind, every day, for over 41 years. In that close quarters, there are some things even a Vulcan cannot hide forever, and she had learned of him in full measure.

Hands clasped, she felt it when alien Ambassadors caused him irritation or frustration. The nature of his work meant that it was dangerous, and on more than one occasion she had felt the violent emotions that came over him in waves when her safety was threatened. And there was, of course, the other. The thing she had vowed never to speak of to another.

“ _They are not worth saving.”_

If any Standard-speaking female had the right to make such a statement, it would be his wife. Hearing those words then, in that context---even in a voice that was far removed from his wife's but in a language she would use---when he could not quite shake the feeling she was actually there speaking to him, it had consequences.

His heart stopped.

He'd felt when he missed the first beat, then the second, and his world started to gray in from the outside of his eyes. His knees buckled.

Then Kirk took over the conversation and navigated them to a satisfactory arrangement. He had been fortunate the Enterprise Captain had turned out to be so unconventional. He doubted he would have been able to finish this negotiation without the human's help.

He knew he could not go on, meditating on Amanda's death and watching it night after night. There was a limit to his endurance. But he was also rapidly becoming ineffective in his duties, and at a time when he needed to be at his sharpest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read more Tale of the Last Clans, check out my Ao3 page. To see more goodies from all over the interwebs for Sarek and Amanda Week, look up the #belovedweek hashtag on tumblr. Oh, and while you're there, check me out on tumblr too: http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	4. I grieve with thee.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Amanda's death, Sarek and Spock's relationship is transformed by fire into something new. Part four of five works commissioned for Sarek and Amanda Week 2015. All scenes from Tale of the Last Clans.

 After eight days of Nekae speaking pointedly to Kirk in each conversation while blatantly ignoring Sarek, the Vulcan Delegation left. Of course, the arrangements they had made to stay, keeping Sarek here while continuing the work of rebuilding New Vulcan, were unsustainable. Stretching ships out across space like the primitive cup-and-string communications device his mother had made for him to play with as a child between New Vulcan and the _Orca Corridor_ so Sarek could continue to communicate with video and audio in the other direction took too many ships away from population security. With their numbers so low, their people still living almost exclusively in space, and their infrastructure so weak, attack from the Romulans was a necessary consideration.

Not so long ago, he would have considered this leave-taking another sign that his parents put work before him, duty before family. This time he did not, largely because he and his father had spoken on the subject.

_Just talk to each other!_ His mother often demanded, cajoled, even begged them. She said it on so many occasions when he was a child that he wondered whether humans had some power of persuasion behind their words, and he and Sarek---or perhaps Vulcans in general---were immune. She seemed convinced that repetition and volume would influence them to change their behavior.

But now he understood. Talking was a revelation. All of those times his mother had yelled at Sarek to _talk to him_ what she meant was _explain your rationale_. Spock wholeheartedly agreed that he often did not understand his father, or thought he did but hoped he was incorrect, and there were numerous occasions throughout his upbringing when he wanted Sarek to explain himself.

Now that Sarek had answered one question, his first, one that he had been saving and trying over and over for his whole life, Spock took this opening to continue.

He had many more questions crammed behind that first one. He had an eidetic memory. And now, he had permission to ask.

That first night he didn't ask a single question. When he got to the quarters he had opened and prepared for his father---which he had anticipated would be a problem with the Hospitality staff, but instead Lt. Herrada just crinkled her eyes at him and let him---he found the older Vulcan sitting at the workstation, chair turned, staring at the wall between that space and the bathroom. His skin was greyish green and his responses slowed. His heart sounded slow, almost weak, and Spock controlled a strong urge to replicate a tricorder and take some scans of his father. That would be a breach of privacy, however, and so took the cherry tomatoes he had harvested from Hydroponics and cooked the two of them an _adronn feltara_.

They actually had several Vulcan produce items on board that would have worked, but as this was how he had learned to make the dish, and his father had never demonstrated a problem or preference to the contrary before, he assumed it would be received similarly this time as well.

They ate dinner, largely in silence, though Spock was able to draw his father out with a discussion of the Vulcan plants, animals, and microbe samples the Enterprise had in its stores. What for many years seemed an illogical action on the part of his mother, the sending of _care packages_ filled with food, seeds, pets, and samples for his projects, had actually saved several species that would have been left to die on the planet otherwise. Sarek was restored a small bit by learning that these lifeforms still existed, and that Enterprise was already growing their numbers despite not having Stafleet Command orders to do so.

While Spock tried on several occasions to explain that out here, in space and on the Enterprise, _he was Command_ , that fact never seemed to be understood by his father.

The next night Sarek spoke from the start, greeting his son when he entered his quarters. He had already replicated some of the puffy, colorful marshmallow fruits created by the replicator, filled with unnaturally large doses of nutrients. Spock brought favinit petals and made a quick butter for a small batch of kreyla crackers. In the middle of their meal, Sarek brought Amanda into the conversation.

“Your mother insists that these are not 'crackers', but instead called them savory shortbreads,” he began, knowing she had never shared that observation with Spock as it was one from early in their marriage.

Spock looked Sarek over, assessing whether he was well enough for a conversation, and what type of conversation he was well enough for, while raising a fruit to his lips. He took it whole, eating the replicated food quickly so that he could swallow and then respond appropriately.

“I find...” Spock began, stopping and looking up hesitantly and then, getting the response from his father that he was looking for, he continued, “...I find that convincing myself that she is gone is a constant struggle.” Sarek takes this with equanimity, nodding at this confession.

"Your mother will always be in your thoughts. But in time, she will not feel so... close.” Sarek watched his son take these words in, always surprised by how much the his son revealed in his body language, so like his wife in that regard. Spock was relieved, thinking this was normal and that Sarek was feeling it too. Sarek was, but it was far from normal.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read more Tale of the Last Clans, check out my Ao3 page. To see more goodies from all over the interwebs for Sarek and Amanda Week, look up the #belovedweek hashtag on tumblr. Oh, and while you're there, check me out on tumblr too: http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	5. Like Father, like son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the middle of a Klingon occupation, Spock reflects on his parents and the nature of bondmates.

Spock was in an unfamiliar situation, his legs knee deep in an ethical quagmire. The Klingons believe he is a Vulcan husband and she his mate, and he can either keep them believing a lie or reveal the truth: that he's a Starfleet officer on a Klingon-occupied planet and she's just an unlucky visitor. He relaxed his posture, trying to behave less like an officer and more like a distressed Vulcan male, concerned with the welfare of his mate. Having only one real example at his disposal, he tried to imagine how his father would act, were his parents in this situation.

That in itself was not far outside of his own experiences. As a young child, he had accompanied his parents on many diplomatic missions. There was a break in this, though, when he turned eight, and after that he stayed on Vulcan for while his parents traveled off world off-and-on until he was fifteen, and joined his father's delegation as an attache.

When he was seven they had traveled to Coridan on one of the Federation's many attempts to get the system to join its ranks. The mission was considered a low risk, and so his parents brought him along. At that time, his days were mostly spent in his rooms at the Vulcan Embassy, studying while his parents worked. One day, deep in a physics text and running sample equations through his mind his thoughts were interrupted by his mother, who ran in and pulled him up from his seated position on the floor.

“Are you okay?!” she had said, her voice shrill as she visually assessed him. Then, not satisfied, she put her fingers to his temple. She was not telepathic on her own, so this was her way of telling him to push his physical state over the parental bond to her. He did, shocked by this odd interruption, feeling his mother's distress and thinking this would be the best way to calm her. She sighed out a deep breath, and her hand dropped from his temple to his shoulders. And then he was drawn into what his mother called _a hug_ , his body engulfed in hers.

This was after he had discovered research that showed the positive health effects of said practice, and specifically how it could help calm the distressed, which led him to conclude that it was logical for his mother, raised by her own non-telepathic parents, to use this method to calm him in times of perceived difficulty. He slowed his own heart and spaced his breaths, which she then mirrored, and they stood thus for 1.5138 minutes.

Then his father entered the room. His pupils were wider, and thus his eyes darker, than normal and he strode across the room in fewer steps than his observed average. Spock watched as his father took his mother's hands, assessing her state as she had just assessed his. He nodded and then spoke to his mother in a low, soft voice.

“Gather the go bag. We need to leave.”

“What's happened?” Even calm, his mother's voice was louder than it needed to be, and colored with tension.

“Some young Orions want to make a name for themselves. We should go, now.” He still spoke softly, and urged her when he just could have located their emergency bag himself and carried her out.

No matter the danger, his parents were always a team. In this instance, though he wanted to incapacitate her and just drag her through this, it might appear amiss if they did not appear to be in partnership , as his parents always were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last scene in a series celebrating Sarek and Amanda Week 2015. For more entries, check out the #belovedweek hashtag on tumblr. While you're there, swing by http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/ for more Trek goodies.

**Author's Note:**

> To find more, check out the #belovedweek tag on tumblr. To see more of my work, go to http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


End file.
